Anyway, I had this dream last night that I had sold the screenplay and it became a big critical success, so my agent (note: I don't actually have an agent) sent me to do an interview for a feature Entertainment Weekly was doing about "hip young screenwriters" (note: I am neither hip nor young). So I go to the home of this other "hip young screenwriter", who actually is young and hip, and who has been celebrated for a movie he wrote that was about how awesome yet frustrating it is to be smarter and better and cooler than the rest of your family, a la "Garden State" and a bunch of other movies that leave a bad taste in my mouth. He lives in this really swanky house somewhere in the suburbs of New York City, and he tries to have a conversation with me about my work, but all he can think of to say is how he thought the title (the title contains an impolite word) was "outrageous, man". I tell him about how hard it was to get the film released because of its content and title, but he doesn't seem very interested.
Then, his wife appears. She is a dead ringer for MTV's Kennedy, only about a decade younger, and it is clear she intends to dominate the whole conversation. She talks to me non-stop about what a fabulous genius her husband is, and how many great things he has lined up after this, and how even though he's a writer, he's really good-looking, and he's in negotiations to be a model in a series of television ads for Gap. I am entirely unable to get a word in with her. She begins talking about what a hard life they had before he sold the screenplay, mentioning that they only had one car, they could barely afford to travel to Europe, and they didn't even have a house and had to live in an apartment like a schmuck. I already want to punch her in the side of the head, but then she pulls out a new laptop computer that she clearly just bought yesterday and fires it up, claiming that it's absolutely essential for their reputation that they keep up to date. She then notes how disappointed she was that her very first e-mail on this new computer was a begging letter from the DNC signed by John Kerry, because "I'm none too fond of that John Kerry."
It is at this point that I excuse myself to go stand in their front yard, and when the interviewer arrives, I tell her that she'll have to talk to me outdoors, because I'm not going back in the house.
HOW MANY PRECIOUS MINUTES OF YOUR LIFE YOU'LL NEVER GET BACK DID YOU WASTE READING THIS ENTRY?